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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24940540">i once was poison ivy (now i'm your daisy)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaermorons/pseuds/kaermorons'>kaermorons</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Cottagecore AU [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Murder, Cottagecore, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Landscaper Geralt, M/M, Past Abuse, Sexual Content, Stalking</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 07:36:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,907</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24940540</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaermorons/pseuds/kaermorons</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaskier's problems are bigger than his own backyard. The past rears its ugly head and pops the happy bubble he and Geralt had been living in.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Cottagecore AU [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1807813</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>280</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>The Witcher Flash Fic Challenge #002</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>i once was poison ivy (now i'm your daisy)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title from Don't Blame Me by Taylor Swift</p><p>TW: Semi-graphic depictions of abuse are written in italics. Allusions to abuse are throughout the work. All sexual content in the work is consensual and not between an abuser and their victim.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Admittedly, all thoughts of continuing work on the cottage were happily pushed to the side when Geralt kept Jaskier warm enough for the coldest of winters. It was a constant but welcome distraction to the shoddiness of his house. Mornings were spent running together along the shore, chasing the rising sun, followed by a quick breakfast before Geralt had to go to work, and Jaskier honestly couldn’t have asked for anything else. It was a sweet little bubble that lasted all summer and well into autumn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Geralt suggested he stay over a week or two while he worked on the electric, he felt a sharp little chill run down his spine. Jaskier was relieved this conversation wasn’t in person, because Geralt would have seen his face fall sharply, probably would have felt his blood run cold. Could he put himself in that situation again, letting himself be vulnerable, body and soul? Could he let himself settle comfortably into someone’s life and risk the hurt and heartbreak he barely survived the last time? Six years of a relationship was a lot to recover from as quickly as Jaskier was trying to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked around his cottage as he weighed his options. It was late September, and the days were grey more and more often. Rain often overtook the coast in long, cold waves; it was as if the ocean was surging down from the sky instead of up from the sand. He wouldn’t want to hurt himself while the electric was out. He’d have to be careful where he stepped, no matter what he chose. He sealed his fate.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’d love that!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Geralt picked him up the next day. He’d managed to practice a smile in the mirror until he could believe it. As the small cottage shrunk in the rearview, his stomach turned uneasily. Geralt was just as quiet as ever, eyes on the road. “I know it’s gonna be a bit awkward at first,” Geralt began. “Dating my client is new territory for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry. I’ll be professional where I need to be.” Jaskier took his hand and grinned helplessly when Geralt laced their fingers together, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “I saved quite a bit of money buying the house as-is, the rest of my budget is going to repairs. Don’t worry.” He repeated himself, assuring himself as much as he was assuring Geralt. Luckily, Geralt didn’t ask too many questions about his personal life, preferring an arrangement where their cards were held close to the chest and only shown when they were sure of the other’s reaction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt nodded and changed the subject. “I can’t wait to show you my favorite parts of town. Most are just a walk from my place.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your walk or my walk?” Jaskier asked with a smirk. He remembered Geralt’s first ‘walk’ back after the first landscaping project. He wasn’t out of shape by any means, but Geralt took ‘long walks on the beach’ to new heights. Distances. Whatever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt shook his head, smirking back at him. “Your walk.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Geralt lived in a townhouse reasonably close to the center of town. Three stories high, it sat comfortably in with the rest on its row, though the front garden flourished exceptionally so, most likely to the envy of his neighbors. Ever a gentleman, Geralt got the door for Jaskier but led him on an abridged tour of the place, showing off where he’ll be sleeping (Geralt’s bed) and not much else. Jaskier took it for what it was, pulling Geralt into a slow kiss and dropping his bag on the bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt’s hands went to his hips, pulling their bodies flush against one another. He was a sturdy wall of heat against Jaskier, growing hotter by the kiss. He buried a hand in that incredibly soft white hair, the other holding onto a broad shoulder like a lifeline. “And how does laundry work here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clothes on the floor is fine for now,” Geralt murmured, kissing down Jaskier’s neck to his collar, using his hunched position to lift under his ass, depositing him on the bed with a saucy grin. Jaskier wiggled his way back on the bed until Geralt could get ahold of his socks and jeans. They were flung across the room, followed closely by Geralt’s shirt. When they had not a scrap on them, Geralt descended. “I’ve been thinking of getting you into my bed for months.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier shivered under the kisses pressed against his skin. He gasped as Geralt tweaked a nipple, back arching. They’d nearly broken Jaskier’s bed back in the cottage, but in this new environment, all the sensations felt new again. From the soft linen duvet to the beautiful pendant light above the bed, Jaskier felt just as flushed and flustered as he was at the door that very first day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wrapped his legs around Geralt’s hips, grinding against him. The searing heat pressed against his belly served as a desperate reminder of where things were heading. With a shift of his hips, Jaskier rolled himself on top and was nearly rendered breathless by the sight of Geralt’s hair fanned about him on the dark sheets, like a rayed halo of moonlight. His kiss-bitten lips and deep golden eyes sent a tug straight behind Jaskier’s navel. “You’re bloody gorgeous,” Jaskier muttered, kissing his way down Geralt’s body like a shipwrecked sailor kisses shore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasted no time swallowing Geralt down, letting his lips stretch just to keep eye contact with the man. Geralt groaned and fisted a hand in the sheets. “Fuck,” he huffed. “God, your </span>
  <em>
    <span>mouth,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jaskier.” The praise sent a thrill of pleasure down his spine, curling happily in his gut. He gave a hum and bobbed his head down lower, turning his attention to the task at hand. At mouth. Whatever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He loved this, the heat of him in his mouth, letting Geralt fill his senses. He was admittedly rusty the first time he’d tried this with the man, having been six years out of the dick-sucking game, but he more than made up for it in enthusiasm. He pulled back some, swirling his tongue around the large head and humming a little more, pulling some beautiful noises from Geralt’s lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt’s hand pushed into his hair, gently pulling and encouraging him. Jaskier spanned his hands up along Geralt’s torso, grabbing and squeezing at random. His body was a temple, and Jaskier was here to worship at it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A firmer tug pulled him off of Geralt’s cock, and some twisting urged him up on the bed. “C’mere,” he rasped, pulling Jaskier in for a kiss. Jaskier was always so surprised at Geralt’s insistence to kiss him after oral, almost used to hesitance and rejection. Geralt has never treated him with anything but adoration and affection. He was sure that he’d be kissed silly covered in mud and reeking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As it was, he was kissed firmly into the bed, moans and gasps ripped from his throat like he was an instrument, at the hands of an experienced artist. Where Geralt had hidden his lube, Jaskier did not know, but he met the press of a cold, slick finger with a surprised laugh. He relaxed and let Geralt in, pressing his face into Geralt’s neck and breathing him in. “Want you so bad,” Jaskier moaned as one finger became two. “You spoil me so well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If getting to fuck your brains out is spoiling you, then imagine how spoiled I feel,” Geralt chuckled, pressing in deep after adding more lube. He found Jaskier’s prostate with a practiced crook to his fingers, and it wrung a startled yelp from the man below. Jaskier grasped desperately at Geralt’s shoulders, heaving for breath as pleasure shook him like a flag in a storm. Thunder rolled from outside, echoing the attach on Jaskier’s senses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“More, want more,” Jaskier whined, fucking himself down onto Geralt’s fingers. Geralt squeezed in another finger, stretching him open. Jaskier keened at the full feeling. Geralt kissed him again, sloppy and messy. Jaskier gasped and let his body be filled. His mind spun higher and higher toward pleasure, and he sucked in a breath. “Fuck me right now, Geralt, right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt laughed in his hair, pressing a kiss to his brow and gently extricating his fingers from Jaskier. He bit his lip on a pitiful whine at the loss, quelled by the knowledge that something better was coming. Geralt rolled a condom on and manhandled Jaskier how he wanted him. Jaskier was always thrilled by this, feeling small and taken care of, treated like something precious and fragile. Geralt groaned when he finally pushed in, filling Jaskier up. That flustered sensation returned tenfold, whiting out Jaskier’s vision for a moment as their bodies joined.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So fucking hot, so tight for me,” Geralt grunted, pressing in inch by glorious inch. Jaskier bent his knees and wrapped his legs around Geralt’s trim waist just like he did before, biting his lip as he watched Geralt sink further in. “Talk to me, Jas.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My fucking brain isn’t working,” Jaskier blurted out. “I can’t think of anything when you’re fucking me; I’m just so full of you, feel you everywhere.” Geralt groaned and rested on his elbows, pressing kisses all over his face. Jaskier giggled a little, sending a few quick squeezes around Geralt’s cock. His hips jerked, pushing deeper until he bottomed out in Jaskier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They groaned in unison, just resting together for a few moments. “You’re so beautiful like this,” Geralt whispered, soft words just for Jaskier. “Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier’s body somehow found a way to blush even further, melting into the bedding. Their chests pressed together, surrounded by a curtain of white hair, Jaskier felt transported to some kind of dream. He felt like he could let go and forget the weight of his past, like there was only here, only now. The only weight he felt now was the weight of words too precious, too frightening, too true to speak. They were a golden knife that had cut too deep and too quickly before, and Jaskier felt like drawing it out into the open again. He swallowed the words before they could know the air between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They moved lazily together, all the time in the world stretched before them. They lost and found each other in their rhythm, guided by their beating hearts. Jaskier’s fingertips traced patterns up Geralt’s shoulders and trailed through the valley along his spine, settled between the muscles there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their peaks took them by surprise, taking them suddenly and sharply. They groaned as they spilled, joining one another in white-hot pleasure. They basked in the afterglow together, both of them tracing mindless designs on one another. Jaskier had never liked the little marks of lovemaking—the bruises, the scratches, the bites—for they all seemed just a bit too violent a reminder of the tenderness he enjoyed so much. He wished the radiant glow they shared would last longer than the marks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, Geralt pressed a sleepy kiss to Jaskier’s head and rolled over, knotting the condom before tossing it in a bin. He stepped through a door, and Jaskier heard a shower start. It was practically music to his ears, the sound of water pressure. He stood shakily from the bed and shuffled to the bathroom, joining Geralt in a beautifully tiled shower, all shiny white and black grout. The water was warm and perfect. Jaskier let out a moan as it hit his skin. “Should I leave you two alone?” Geralt chuckled, wrapping his arms around him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Water pressure is a sacred thing, Geralt.” Jaskier let the water cascade over his head, groaning at the consistent warmth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you keep making noises like that, I’ll have to put electricity on hold and work on the plumbing first.” Geralt nuzzled against Jaskier’s neck, trying to taste the last bits of him before it was washed away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You like laying pipe, do you?” Jaskier joked half-heartedly, weak at the affection. Geralt snuffled into his neck and shook his head. He reached behind him for some soap and a cloth, washing them both down but taking infinitely more care with Jaskier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shower done and freshly dressed, they sought out the kitchen next, where Geralt put together a few sandwiches to share between them. “I invited Eskel and Lambert over tonight, hope that’s okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s your house, Geralt.” Jaskier smiled. “I like their company too. I may be from the city, but I don’t require so much chivalry to be wooed. You’ve well-won that battle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt looked rather pleased with that admission, and it was a good look on him. Jaskier quietly ate his sandwich until Geralt suddenly stood and walked to a small corkboard, unpinning a scrap of paper. “What’s that?” Jaskier asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wifi password.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier’s eyes widened. “Wifi.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, the internet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Holy shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How long have you been haunting the cafe in town?” Geralt smirked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like three months.” Jaskier moaned again, searching for his phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s it with you and sexual urges toward life’s commodities?” Geralt laughed, handing over the password.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I quite took them for granted in the city,” Jaskier said to his phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why move out this far and put yourself in a situation you’d be living without them?” Geralt asked. Jaskier froze a little, and Geralt noticed, eagle-eyed as ever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a long story to get to the simple answer, but a shorter story for a more complicated one. Which would you prefer?” Jaskier turned his phone over and over in his hand, not looking up. His throat felt tight at even the thought of </span>
  <em>
    <span>thinking</span>
  </em>
  <span> about why he’d fled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to tell me now. I know the appeal of escaping something as well.” Geralt gently, always gentle for Jaskier, took his hand. “Just need to know if I need to bury a body.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This startled out a laugh from Jaskier, shooting his eyes up to Geralt’s. “No, nothing so drastic. I’m being dramatic. It is a long story, though, and not a happy one. I like you looking at me like this, and not…” </span>
  <em>
    <span>disappointed. Judging only to find wanting, weak.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt frowned a little. “We all have histories. They don’t control your heading, just your mileage.” The sincerity in his voice, the assurance at taking things at a slower pace, made Jaskier’s heart swell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier walked around the table and kissed him. “You’ll know eventually. My past has a habit of catching up with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Again, burying a body is still on the table.” Geralt said goodheartedly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They went up and dozed in bed, bodies sated from good sex and good lunch. Jaskier lay awake for quite a while after Geralt fell asleep, thinking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Would Stella go looking for him? It’d been almost five months since he’d fled London, and her. He’d disappeared as fast as he could. He hadn’t even called his mother once in those five months since moving to the coast for fear of her telling Stella where he was. He’d done a lot more than changing his number and address just to get away from all that. He was sure he’d wrapped up all the loose ends he had in the city, not that there were that many to begin with. Stella had made sure of that long before she’d ever raised a hand to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt mumbled something in his sleep, pulling him from his melancholy, and wrapped his arms tighter around Jaskier, as if sensing that he needed the support and comfort. The sweet action only served to tighten the vise around his heart. Geralt didn’t deserve to be caught up in his web, deserved better than anything Jaskier had to offer. How could he even be so selfish as to stay when every second left stationary meant the tightening of a lasso around his chest?</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Geralt left him alone with the wifi and the central heating the next morning, telling him he’d be back by lunchtime. Jaskier spent most of the day just catching up on news he’d missed, answering emails, and updating his resume. He supposed he should think about finding a job and not just sit around like a money-heavy loaf until he was destitute. As he browsed, he felt a strange calm settle over him, like he was floating at the surface of a still ocean. Distantly, he realized he hadn’t felt that kind of peace in many years, at least not as deeply as he did now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At lunchtime, as promised, Geralt rolled back up with his truck. “You’re not gonna like how I left the place, but if I look at the state of those wires for another second, I’m gonna blow a fuse of my own.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, we don’t want you doing that,” Jaskier grinned, kissing him in greeting. Geralt shrugged out of his work clothes quickly and donned a jacket, holding his hand out to Jaskier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mon, we’re going to lunch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lunch was at a lovely pub five minutes’ walk from Geralt’s place. It had the requisite seafarer’s memorabilia, and sports affiliations vomited all over the walls and hanging in the windows. It felt so much homier than any place Jaskier liked to drink in the city. Gone were the days of posh bars with expensive, elaborate cocktails printed on a menu in an unreadable font. The choices here were ale, shandy, stout, and lager, ask for anything else, and you’d be laughed out of the place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier moaned his way through a plate of fish and chips, to Geralt’s amusement. “Everything here seems to astound you with startling intensity,” he said into his beer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps I was meant to live on the coast all along, live a slower life with less internet access, not counting calories or checking my phone every four seconds, lest my head falls off from sheer lack of stimulation.” Geralt couldn’t argue with that logic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We don’t want you doing that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they were leaving the pub, Jaskier thought he caught a familiar shade of brown hair swishing behind a wall, fear immediately choking him and leaving his hands too numb.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jas? What is it?” Geralt looked around him, frowning at his sudden halt. Jaskier shook himself a little.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just a chill,” he laughed, but it sounded all hollow and upset. Geralt looked him over for a few seconds longer, frowning at what he saw, but didn’t ask more. Jaskier would tell him if something was wrong.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Eskel and Lambert didn’t bother knocking on the door when they arrived, making Jaskier jump practically out of his skin each time. Geralt always settled him with a heavy hand upon his shoulder and a kiss to his temple. Both the other men paid their condolences to Jaskier’s drywall, which he was yet to see.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They all drank together that evening, and between the four of them, cleaned out Geralt’s fridge easily. Geralt settled with his arm around his shoulders on the couch while they all chatted, some show on the television.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what do you do, Jaskier?” Eskel asked. Jaskier looked up and made a confused noise. “For work. Money. Whatever. Buying and gutting a whole house isn’t cheap.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it certainly isn’t,” Jaskier laughed, putting his beer back to his lips to stall a little. “I’m not working right now. Had a bit of a nest egg saved up from royalties.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The group all leaned in to hear more. Jaskier sighed, conceding that he may as well tell them now before it all came out later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Last few years, I was a technical writer for a medical equipment company. Sucked my soul out, but I figured it’d put a communication degree to use. But on the side, I was writing fiction novels. They sold much, much better than I ever expected.” That part was true. All of it was, in a way, from a thousand feet up. He didn’t want to tell them about the intense secrecy with which he hid his creative writings. Nights spent parked in front of a computer, claiming it was work so Stella wouldn’t be interested. He was writing from his phone on the tube, on his breaks. He wasn’t even sure he’d be published, that first time. He and Stella weren’t even that close, then, just mutual friends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hated qualifying his personal history with his relationship with her. Before Stella. Before Stella hit him. After Stella sent him to the hospital. After he broke up with her the first time. After he left, the first time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt and his friends didn’t seem to notice his darkening mood, though. “Anything I’d know?” Lambert asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mon, asshole, you don’t know how to read.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re… kind of made for a younger audience. I wanted to write something that I would’ve enjoyed as a teenager.” He didn’t tell them that he was strictly forbidden from reading fiction as a whole until he was well into secondary school. After that, he devoured as much as he could have, inspiring a lifelong obsession with writing, reading, bookmaking, publishing, anything that he could get his hands on that told a story.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hated that even the happy parts of him were stained by sadness. It was almost cliche that he’d be drawn to a man with snow-white hair straight out of his daydreams. The harder they fall, and all that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least things with Stella had been simple. He knew that she expected him to work his nine-to-five bureaucratic job because her father golfed with the executive board. He knew that she hated him, deep down, for not relying on her financially. It was one of the only areas that she couldn’t infiltrate in his life. He wouldn’t have been able to get away from her if she had. He knew his mother was proud of him dating her, which was another simple reason to keep the status quo. He knew both of their triggers, which ones would spawn a guilt trip a thousand miles long, which ones would end in judgemental silence, which ones would be explosive and painful, at least to him. It was rather like trying to walk a tightrope with your hands behind your back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just don’t fall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If only it were that easy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luckily, the conversation drifted away from his works after he promised to show them off. “Once I unpack the books, I’ll find them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aren’t there books in every box?” Geralt smirked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, all the more reason to unpack.” Geralt shook his head and kissed him quickly, enough for Eskel and Lambert to fake heave and announce they were walking home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Goodbyes said, Jaskier helped clean up but was still entirely lost in his own thoughts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t quite expected the three of them to be so comfortable about him guarding his past. They were all cut from the same cloth, cards face-down on the table. He much preferred telling and hearing the stories of others, allowing him to escape at least for a little while. When Stella had found out about the books…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bed?” Geralt pulled him out of his preoccupation. Jaskier nodded, taking his hand and following him up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Much of the same tomorrow?” Jaskier asked. Geralt grunted an affirmative. “I really want to go back to that pub, few things caught my eye on the menu I haven’t had since my first year of university.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll get you fattened up for winter.” Jaskier yelped as he was suddenly lifted up over a broad shoulder, and hauled off up the stairs like a prize well-won.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was new.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was nice.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>
    <span>“...cannot believe you wrote this drivel!” Stella shrieked, hurling his laptop into the rubbish chute. His voice caught in his throat, and it felt like a noose tightening ever closer around his neck. He made a small noise, watching as her hair swished around a corner. He followed, helpless to stop her. “Why would you need any more outlet than our life together, Julian? I’m a countess by blood, you don’t need to go off into worlds I can’t follow with you!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Stella, I—”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A sharp smack to the cheek.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“No, quiet! You’ve had enough words to say, don’t you think?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I don’t—”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Don’t. You. Think.” Stella liked to punctuate her words with fists. When he could finally look up at them, her eyes were cold as ice, and send shivers down him until he nodded, jerkily and tight. He felt like he was falling, like it was him she’d stuffed down the chute, clattering against a long aluminum drop. He was waiting for the tug at his neck, the moment the noose went taut—</span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>“Jaskier! Breathe, you gotta breathe, baby!” Large hands, gentle even now, pinned his shoulders and kept him from thrashing about. He eventually complied, heaving in great breaths of air and looking around wildly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Geralt?” He choked out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m here. I’m here. I’m here.” He continued muttering against his head as he pulled Jaskier close, curled into his lap. He stroked long over his back, smoothing the pebbled skin there, the scars he’d never asked about, only kissed. “You had a nightmare.” Jaskier nodded, almost back to sane again. God, how many days had he awoken clawing for breath, like he was drowning in his own memories every night?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Jaskier said shakily, finally melting against him. “Must have been all the drinks.” He muttered into Geralt’s sleep shirt. Geralt didn’t hum, didn’t nod, didn’t accept that throwaway excuse for his behavior. “I could sleep downstairs if you need me to.” Jaskier sighed. “I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jas, don’t.” Geralt sighed. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Just. Let me take care of you, okay?” The swift decision, the affection and care in Geralt’s voice despite being yanked from sleep, spoke volumes to the maturity of the man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. Okay.” Jaskier whispered, eyes burning with unshed tears. His throat closed up again with the heavy emotions laying waste to his mind. He still felt that sharp edge of fear in his side, burning phantom pains from wounds that healed wrong, vessels that burst and couldn’t knit themselves back together, a mind altered and confused and betrayed. He took in another shaky breath, but couldn’t hold back the tears that came next, that lonely ache still echoing in his heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shh, shh, I’ve got you, I’m here.” Geralt seemed to scoop him up just that little bit more, kissing his head gently. Geralt was always gentle with him, in words and touch and especially with his heart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was new.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was nice.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Geralt was a little warier at leaving Jaskier alone, after that night. They still got lunch together and shared the same bed, and Jaskier didn’t have another nightmare after that, but there was still a massive cloud over the two of them that they just couldn’t shake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier felt like he was seeing things, his head turned by a glint or a color just a bit too familiar for comfort. He never saw anything to settle his nerves, only started to question his own sanity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On what Geralt said was probably the last day of electric reno, he was back in the driveway an hour after he left. A considerable tension held itself in his shoulders that put unease into Jaskier’s very bones. “What happened?” Jaskier asked, voice barely a whisper. “Is everyone alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should sit down.” Geralt’s tone was tight and did not hold that same musicality that generally accompanied it when he was in a good mood. Jaskier sat without argument. “Something...happened. At the cottage.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god.” Jaskier covered his mouth, but let Geralt go on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sometime yesterday after I left, it looks like someone broke in. They kind of tore the place up. I’m not sure there’s much left.” Jaskier felt dizzy, vision swimming. “I didn’t touch the place, wanted to call the police, but I had to.” Geralt swallowed roughly, taking his phone out. “I had to make sure you were alright, first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt showed him the photos.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Red paint on every wall spelled the nastiest things Jaskier could even think of. Even though the handwriting was large, messy, anger-driven, Jaskier could make out that sickeningly familiar loop to the f in ‘freak’.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s her.” Jaskier rasped, a hundred miles away from here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who, Jas? Who did this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stella. She’s my. She’s my ex.” Jaskier huffed and pushed a hand through his hair. He stood. “I am. So sorry,” he implored. “I am so sorry I dragged you into this, she does this, she sees me try to start again and she—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s done this before?” Geralt took him by the shoulders, pushing him back into the couch. “Jaskier, I know it’s hard, but I need you to tell me everything.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>
    <span>They’d just celebrated their sixth anniversary the second time she hit him. The first time was when she found evidence of the books he’d written in secret, away from her. Jaskier—no, he was still going by Julian then, he thought it was an accident. Stella had certainly supplicated enough to beleaguer that point. The bruise had faded fast enough, and soon it was like it had never happened. The paranoia and fear never left, though. It radiated through his bones like an icy winter without a coat.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He had mentioned doing some kind of work trip out of the city. He’d only said it, hadn’t even expressed his want to get away for a little. She’d lashed out with her manicured nails and boxed him right on the cheek. He didn’t bring up work trips again.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>More and more things started to become secret. It wasn’t like Stella liked him having friends, or hanging out with anyone besides her. He really, really had no one. Julian tried to deny the nature of the relationship, the toxicity spreading like venom from every hand raised in anger, in frustration. His fault. His fault.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He stayed with her for five and a half months after that.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The first time he left, he tried breaking up with her to stay at his mother’s place.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Phones travel faster than cabs.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fists travel faster than apologies.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Even at work, if he brought up that he spoke to a friend, she’d turn her anger his way. She didn’t understand why he cried at films, at music, why he was reading all this time. Eventually, she got drunk enough to tell him that after six years, she thought he’d propose.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The idea had him hurling in the loo at work.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>On his breaks, he plotted his escape. He couldn’t call his mother, couldn’t run to her for aid any more than he could the first time. Stella grew worse every day. She used her father’s leverage with his boss to have him surveilled at all hours. There was never a moment of peace that he could take a breath long enough to hold.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>An opportunity came for him to cut that tether to her finally. She was away on a trip, due to be back any hour when he finally hit send on that resignation email, packed his books and his clothes into his car, and left for the coast.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Stella didn’t like the coast. She said the ocean didn’t work well with her complexion, so they weren’t going. Six summers of sweltering heat in the city.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So he went to the coast. He bought the first house he could with money from the account his royalties went into, and he stayed off-grid for months. Everything seemed to be going well, tied up with a bow.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Every secure knot can unravel with a knife.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Geralt held him as he shook and sobbed through the memories, kissed his head, and brought him water when he cried himself hoarse. It was more than Jaskier had ever told anyone. Geralt was the first one who cared about him in a long, long time. “I’m sorry, I didn’t tell you sooner. You would’ve avoided me like the plague.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not true. Let me decide what I will and won’t avoid. You don’t seem to look like butternut squash, so I’ll keep you around.” Jaskier gave a weak laugh, always comforted by Geralt’s humor. “Don’t apologize for not telling me sooner. It’s a lot to process by yourself, and from what it sounds like, you were cut off from anything that could have helped you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier looked and looked and looked for the pity in his voice, but there was only sadness, only care. He leaned his head on him. “What do I do? She’s not going to stop. If there’s one thing she hates, it’s seeing me happy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt hummed. “We should go to the police about the vandalism first. Get that documented. I know you’ll hate it, but I’m not letting you out of my sight for a minute until this is handled.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s a lot of things I could do on house arrest.” Jaskier teased and settled back with a sigh. “I’ll follow your lead. I don’t know if I can do all this on my own, so. Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re more than welcome.” Geralt nuzzled into his neck. “So, um. Don’t answer this if you don’t want, but should I start calling you Julian?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As nice as that name sounded on Geralt’s tongue, it had been spat and sneered too many times in his life for him to think of anything else. So, “No. Jaskier’s the name I put on my books, and I think… that’s who I’ve been showing you. The heart of me. Since the beginning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt pressed his lips to Jaskier’s shoulder and held them there, silent and loving and content to stay like that forever. Jaskier would have let him.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>After the police report was filed, things seemed to settle themselves suspiciously well. Geralt seemed well-suited to being on alert at all times, but remembering the reason for it made Jaskier’s skin crawl.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cottage was cleaned by a maid, and whatever Geralt could salvage came home with him in the truck—a few boxes of books and miscellaneous things, a shirt, and a pair of socks. The rest had been destroyed by red varnish and some kind of shears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The box felt pitifully light in Jaskier’s arms. “I’ll get you new books.” Geralt pledged instantly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The books he’d written hadn’t survived the attack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, the electricity was finished, but Geralt said the place wasn’t liveable. A plumbing reno delayed Jaskier’s return by another two weeks, but every night spent in Geralt’s arms was another night well-rested. He didn’t see any hints of Stella in town.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe she left,” Eskel suggested one night over tense drinks. Jaskier had to clue him and Lambert in, and at Geralt’s insistence that they wouldn’t judge him, he did. They were almost as protective over Jaskier as Geralt was. It was sweet, and it was a new experience.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s a little more tenacious than you give her credit for. She found me within two days of me being back online.” Jaskier said into his drink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, Eskel, show some respect. I mean, who’d give up stalking a catch like Jaskier?” Lambert said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, man.” Geralt warned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, that’s. Sweet. Thanks, Lam.” Jaskier patted his thigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See. I’m sweet.” Lambert preened. The night went easier after that.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>After the emergency renovations list couldn’t be added to anymore, Jaskier settled his bill with Geralt’s company and moved back in. The absence of his belongings was made even more evident by the new lights throughout the house. Jaskier took a few minutes, just walking through it in silence. The wonder at owning this place made him feel like he’d just pre-paid for his own coffin. He couldn’t overstay his welcome at Geralt’s townhouse. He had to be brave in his own home, and damn the rest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The stiff upper lip was really quite exhausting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luckily, Geralt stayed with him through it all. Neither of them slept that first night, and though the police patrolled down the street every couple of hours, it only put Jaskier more on edge than before. Exhausted, they slept in shifts through the day, watching intently at the curtainless windows. Jaskier couldn’t even enjoy his showers with Geralt, both of them torn from their watch posts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt was practically dead on his feet after a week of going to jobs half-awake. Jaskier was under strict instructions not to leave the house alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bollocks to that. He’d lived under stricter rules before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier left a note on Geralt’s forehead and grabbed his keys. He drove to the grocery store at almost twice the posted speed, chanting to himself that everything was going to be alright. It was a little hard to believe himself when, at any moment, a tree could take Stella’s place as his murderer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The store was rather crowded that day, but he kept his hood up, trying not to draw attention to himself. After the first few aisles, he finally let his hands relax from their creaking white-knuckled grip on the trolley. By the end of his list, he felt almost normal again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Until.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A sharp point pressed through his layers, and a sharper voice whispered in his ear to keep moving. It was the same voice that haunted his dreams and worst memories.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stunned back to his regular silence, Jaskier let Stella lead him through the grocery store, even though his whole body shook in terror, and he was sure every step he took would be his last. The whole time, she kept up a constant hiss of nasty words in his ear, telling him how she destroyed his “little shed of a house” and everything inside it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>None of it seemed to reach his nerves until she started speaking about the cruel things she was going to do to Geralt, asleep back at home. “We’ll be gone before he even realizes you left, Julian. Just like you left me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bravery flooded his veins, and his rope finally snapped. He stopped suddenly, turning to her with thunderous rage clear upon his face. “You will not speak of him. Ever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hadn’t anticipated his sudden shift in behavior, so used to his compliance and submission after all these years. The knife she brandished, taken from his own kitchen set that was packed the last time he saw it, was on clear view now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She has a knife!” Jaskier shouted, finally taking a few quick steps away from her. Several other people around them scattered, watching the scene unfold all at once. It was only now that he saw how small she was, how she had to beat people with her words and hands to make herself seem bigger. Jaskier could easily outrun her, could protect himself now. He had a protector far bigger than both of them, and he was going to be pissed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stella shrieked in rage, running at him with the knife held high. He swiftly dodged the slash, but her anger held an unpredictable pattern to her movements that he couldn’t keep up with. He shouted and fell in shock as the knife caught his jacket, its dull edge slicing a jagged cut across his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tried rolling away, mind racing with only the thought of his survival. She advanced again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blood</span>
  <em>
    <span>—his blood—</span>
  </em>
  <span>caught her underfoot, and she slipped. With a yelp, she seemed to fall in slow-motion. Her hand in its death grip on the knife swung wide and bounced off a display as she descended. It rebounded back the way it came, and the tip of the knife embedded itself in her chest, right through the heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing seemed to move as she died. Blood pooled around her shoulders, just like in the movies, just like how Jaskier thought he’d die at her hands. She didn’t even look at him as she exhaled her last breath, instead dying looking at some produce he couldn’t remember the name of.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He finally let the darkness that had been creeping at the edge of his vision take him.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Jaskier remembered being scooped up by someone. He remembered someone shouting his name over and over. He knew that voice. He did not know the fear in that voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slept again.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>He woke in the back of an ambulance, moving down the road. There was a paramedic with him there, greeting him and asking him questions. Most importantly, there was Geralt.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>In the hectic weeks that followed the incident at the grocery store that they most definitely did not shop at anymore, Jaskier was made aware of the intense efforts that had gone into Stella’s stalking. It really had been her all those times he’d thought he’d seen her. She’d set up highly illegal tracking on his accounts. Going off-grid had really done wonders for his security. He threw out the internet offer that appeared on the cottage doorstep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt was definitely giving him space as he got used to living life unhunted. It wasn’t walking on eggshells, but there was a definite avoidance of The Incident. Therapy helped, and it turned out he could talk about his ugly past with a stranger, and live his beautiful future with his best friend. It wasn’t perfect, but well. What was?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier realized one morning that he would never be able to fully articulate how much he loved Geralt, but three words was a good start.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt thought four words worked a little better.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>:D &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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